


the wrong side of that line

by waltwhitmans



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Brief mentions of abusive relationships, Gen, M/M, Manchester verse, Unhealthy coping skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-02-01 01:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21321154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltwhitmans/pseuds/waltwhitmans
Summary: "My husband doesn't love me anymore," Pete said simply. He was staring straight ahead, into the mirror on the other side of the bar, sitting perfectly still. Holding himself together. "You don't know what that's like."Before the October debate, an attempt is made to clear the air.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	1. down here it's just winners and losers

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Manchester, NH](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496077) by [pockettreatpete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pockettreatpete/pseuds/pockettreatpete). 

> Title and quotes from "Atlantic City" by Bruce Springsteen, a very depressing song about a very depressing place. Apologies to Pocket, and everyone.

_October 14, 2019_  


Springsteen was singing one of his sad acoustic songs through the tinny speakers in the hotel bar. _Everything dies, baby, that's a fact, but maybe everything that dies someday comes back._ After a full day of debate prep Beto put a lid on it. He felt like a caged animal, cooped up in the hotel room with Jen and Rob and the team, going over policy that he could recite in his sleep and roleplaying the other candidates. What if Warren says this, what if Biden says that. "Buybacks," Rob said. "You know you're going to have some back and forth with Buttigieg on that."

"I know," Beto said. He had folded himself into a chair with a notepad and pen. He meant to take notes but his mind kept wandering. 

"So hit him where he lives. The gun violence in South Bend, we should find out how many shootings there happen with AR-15s. Stick it to him on his record as mayor. How's he supposed to pass gun control bills if he can't handle it in his own city?"

"No," Beto said, more forcefully than he thought he would. "I'm not going there."

"Why not?" Jen asked. "It's a fair question. Hell, everything he's running on is fair game."

"So is everything I'm running on." 

"You said the other day that he doesn't have political courage," Jen said pointedly. "Are you backing down from that?"

Beto stood up, stretched. If he heard another question about Pete Buttigieg he was going to throw himself out the window. "It's late," he said. "I think we're all tired of each other. That's it for tonight, everyone." 

They all packed up and left the room. Jen gave him a meaningful look as she left: what was that about? He had no plans to tell her, or anyone. He was raised Catholic and that meant carrying guilt with you all the days of your life. Beto collapsed on the bed, took his phone out of his pocket, called Amy. He wished she was with him on the trail more. Of course someone had to look after the kids and the pets and maintain a level of order at home but he missed her. Ever since he learned what he was capable of when she wasn't there he missed her even more. "You sound tired," she said. "Are you sleeping enough?"

"Fine. We just finished some last minute debate prep. To tell you the truth I was getting a little sick of it."

"I know you'd rather be out talking to people, but you have to buckle down. You're not going to get support if you look like you can't hold your own."

"I know."

"Are you okay?" Amy asked.

Don't tell her that you've been hearing the name of the man you cheated on her with way too much lately and it's starting to get to you. "I'm feeling cooped up. There's a twenty-four hour gym at this hotel, maybe I'll go work out for a little while."

"I think that's a good idea." 

"Can you put the kids on? I want to talk to them."

"They're asleep," Amy said. "It's ten-thirty."

Beto looked at his watch, still on El Paso time. She was right. "In the morning when they get up, tell them I love them and I can't wait to come home, okay?"

"I always do. Go work it out, Beto. I'll see you tomorrow." 

"I love you," he said, because he did, and couldn't imagine not loving her. 

"I love you too." 

Beto said goodnight, hung up the phone, ignored his workout clothes as he left the room with just his phone and his key. The bar stayed open until two. He probably would be better off exhausting himself on the treadmill but at that moment he wanted a drink more than anything. 

There was only one other person there, sitting at the bar, head down. _I got a job and tried to put my money away, but I got debts that no honest man could pay,_ Springsteen sang. It wasn't until Beto was almost at the bar when he saw that the one man there was the one man on Earth he didn't want to be alone with. "Beto," Pete said. "Of all the gin joints."

"How did you -" Beto began to say, then saw the mirror behind the bar. "Yeah. All the candidates in town for a debate, who knew?" 

"You might as well sit down," Pete said. "They don't ask questions here."

Feeling vaguely like he was walking into a trap, Beto sat down, leaving a stool between him and Pete. He ordered a beer, picked at the label when it came. The bartender disappeared into the back. "You don't have to worry about me trying anything on you," Pete said. 

"It was a stupid mistake. We shouldn't have."

"I know." Pete sipped his whiskey. "You should know that I told Chasten."

Beto swallowed. His chest tightened. "What did he say?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know him well enough to guess."

"My husband doesn't love me anymore," Pete said simply. He was staring straight ahead, into the mirror on the other side of the bar, sitting perfectly still. Holding himself together. "You don't know what that's like. I love him so much it hurts, and when I look in his eyes there's nothing there. Not even hate, or anger, or contempt. Nothing. Completely blank. He won't give me the satisfaction of hating me."

"He doesn't show it," Beto said cautiously.

"He's a theater teacher. Has a degree in it. He can fake it well enough in public. He's been sleeping in the guest room at home since I told him. Do you know how it feels when Amy kisses you and you just know deep down that she's only doing it for the cameras?"

Beto didn't answer. He didn't know because Amy didn't know, he didn't tell her. What good would it do to tell her? It wasn't worth it to ruin her life and destroy their marriage just to clear his conscience. That was his punishment, he thought: every day for the rest of his life, he would look in her eyes, and know that he had betrayed her. 

"Of course," Pete scoffed. "You didn't tell her. And I'm the one who's supposed to be without courage."

"I don't see what good it would do," Beto snapped. "The biggest mistake of my life has nothing to do with her. We have children. It would ruin their lives." 

"I thought Chasten and I were going to have children," Pete said, almost wistfully, swirling his glass. "He adores children. He was born to be a parent. We got close to adopting last year but it fell through at the last minute. He was crushed. The campaign brought that spark back out of him." 

"What are you going to do?"

"As soon as the campaign ends, my marriage is over. I make a concession speech to my supporters, close up shop, and he moves out and serves me with divorce papers. It's only a question of when, not if." 

"You could be elected president," Beto said. 

"Then I'll be the third divorced president in history, and I'll be shit at it, because the one person I rely on for ballast won't be there. Or he'll be the perfect First Gentleman in public and he'll sleep in a different bedroom in the White House and he'll never touch me again. Either is equally likely, I figure."

"Why even tell him?"

"How was I supposed to look him in the eye?"

There was no answer for that. They lapsed into silence. Springsteen became Tim McGraw, then Whitney Houston. Beto nursed his beer, rolled the sweating bottle between his hands. Pete knocked back his whiskey, ordered another. "He's upstairs right now," he said. "Chasten. We have to sleep in the same bed tonight. That's why I'm killing time here. So hopefully he'll be asleep when I go up. I do this a lot when we're traveling together."

"Does it work?"

"Sometimes." 

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because it's your secret, too. Unless you feel like telling your wife."

Beto was only going to be with Amy for one night. They were going to sleep in the same bed, have breakfast together in the morning, kiss before she left for the airport, she would call when she got home. She would put the kids on and let them tell their father that he did a great job and that they loved him. He was a lucky man. "I miss him," Pete said. "All the time. He can be right next to me and I'll still miss him."

"Did you apologize?"

"Of course I apologized. You don't know what Chasten's been through. You know he was homeless when he was younger? He had boyfriends who beat him up, abused him. He thought he finally had someone good. Someone who wouldn't be so selfish."

"I'm sorry."

"I know," Pete said quietly. "Every day he sees a picture of us together or a video compilation of us being cute or a fucking gif of when we kissed at our wedding and it just twists the knife a little more. I admire his fortitude, though. Most people would retreat. He's still out on the trail stumping for me, convincing people to support me. They love him. More than me, I think." 

"Maybe it means something," Beto said. "That he's still on the trail for you."

"He's smarter than people give him credit for," Pete said. "He knows how people are invested in us. How it would look if he spent more time at home or if he went back to work. Once a rumor starts it's almost impossible to quash. And in our case it would be true. It could get to our parents, the staff. There's no room for it. We're walking a fine line as it is, being a gay couple. You don't know how good you have it. Wife and three kids, it's perfect. If this got out I'd look like the pervert who seduced the altar boy." 

Pete was starting to ramble. Beto looked at the glass in his hand. "How many of those have you had?"

"This is number four."

"Jesus, Pete -"

"You think I can sleep next to him? I lie awake thinking about his face when I told him. He's right there, and I know if I touched him he would kill me. I live for when he holds my hand or kisses me in public because he won't get near me when we're alone and he doesn't love me anymore. Don't act all concerned. Amy doesn't know." 

"Fuck you," Beto hissed.

"You and I are very different people," Pete mused. "It's funny. I donated to your Senate campaign last year. I thought that anyone who would willingly go up against Ted Cruz would be someone I could get along with. Who would have guessed?" 

Beto stood up, slapped a twenty on the bar next to his untouched beer. "You're drunk," he said. "I'm done here." 

"Goodnight, Beto," Pete said, lifting his glass to his mouth. "I'd say I hope I never see you again, but we'll be on stage together tomorrow." 

As Beto walked back to the elevator, the Springsteen song was on again. _Now, our luck may have died and our love gone cold, but with you forever I'll stay._ In his room, alone, he felt like a coiled spring. Amy would never know. The kids would never know. He was a lucky man. Pete was still downstairs at the bar, lingering over one last drink for as long as he could because when he was finished he was going back to a husband who might as well not be there, for all the love he showed. Beto felt like the last man on Earth. He still had everything and he didn't deserve it. He called Jen. She was a night owl so she answered. "What's up?"

"After the debate," Beto said. "We're going to get the team together and we're going to have some serious conversations."

Jen didn't answer for a few seconds. Then she said, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Why now?"

"I'm not sure where I'm going anymore. To tell you the truth, I haven't been sure for a while."

Jen assured him that they would have these conversations and told him just to focus on the debate, not what was on the other side. It was early still, Iowa was months away, he had endless potential to rise, other candidates were going to drop out and he'd get more support. It wasn't over yet. Beto said sure, he'd keep it all in mind, the debate was the most important thing right now. After he hung up with her he called Amy again. He knew it would go straight to voicemail, she turned her phone off when she went to bed, but he wanted to hear her voice as she said her name. He hung up right after. If she asked, he'd say he pocket dialed her when he was at the gym. It sounded like it could be true.


	2. i got a bad desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Chasten thought he was being eminently fair. He chose to take the high road, after a fashion. His husband, who swore to love only him all the days of his life, had slept with someone else. Instead of doing anything to endanger the campaign and the livelihoods of the people who worked for it, he kept quiet._
> 
> The other side of the issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I can't believe it either. If anyone would like musical accompaniment, please enjoy this cover of "I'm On Fire" by Soccer Mommy.

Chasten had no plans to tell Pete that, when he was in the house by himself, he would sleep in their bed. If he had a night by himself, with Pete stumping in Iowa or New Hampshire or wherever. He would stay up late, telling himself he had to watch one more episode, read one more chapter, do all the chores that just couldn't wait until morning. Usually he could keep up the pretense until after midnight. When he did finally force his own hand and go to bed, he couldn't get comfortable right away. He always thought the bed was too big, even before Pete torpedoed their marriage by fucking a straight man. It wasn't a new problem. The thing was that the only way Chasten could get to sleep now was by sleeping on Pete's pillow, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, his aftershave and moisturizer. Sometimes he woke up and couldn't remember at first why the room seemed unfamiliar. Sometimes he woke up from a dream of having sex with Pete, painfully hard. Most of the time he jumped in a lukewarm shower and willed it away, but sometimes he would be jerking into his hand before he was fully awake. If Pete noticed that the sheets were being changed while he was away, he didn't say anything. 

Chasten thought he was being eminently fair. He chose to take the high road, after a fashion. His husband, who swore to love only him all the days of his life, had slept with someone else. Instead of doing anything to endanger the campaign and the livelihoods of the people who worked for it, he kept quiet. He played the supportive spouse, taking pictures and posting cute tweets, stumping faithfully for the man who betrayed him. He could be anything in front of a camera, a crowd of supporters. In private he slept in the guest room and refused to look Pete in the eye. Questions slammed into his mind and it took all the restraint he could summon not to ask. Did you fuck him like I fuck you, all the things I taught you to do, you didn't know anything when I met you and I gave you everything I had and this is what I get? Was he better than me, did you like having someone who was inexperienced as you were underneath you? You swear in front of God and our families to love and honor me and our vows and you repay my faith by letting another man convince you to fuck him? Who are you? What have you done? Why? _Why?_

Chasten knew why. He didn't want to know why. He wanted to understand what made Pete throw a year of marriage away for another man. He wanted to know how Pete had gotten so lost. 

The first three debates had been hell. Not only did Chasten have to up the ante himself, stand next to Pete on live TV and sit with Anne in the audience, there _he_ was. Beto fucking O'Rourke. Chasten wanted to throw up every time he heard the name. In Miami, Detroit, and Houston, Pete had stood on stage with Beto and the sight of them, even separated by multiple podiums, was torture. Chasten hated his voice, his long legs, he hated El Paso and all of Texas, he hated Ted Cruz for winning and leaving Beto free to run for president, and most of all he hated the thought of Beto on his back and Pete kneeling over him. The image was impossible to shake. Apparently Pete would bottom for his husband but when he was in bed with a straight man he was on top.

Number four: Westerville, Ohio. Chasten was there because he had to be there. He would be spending the morning of the debate speaking to the Ohio Democratic Leaders Coalition, with Nan Whaley, and after that he was going to be sequestered in the hotel room with Pete and the team until it was time to leave. He could keep up the act. He could pick a photo to put on Twitter and write a caption that would warm hearts all over the country. He was going to sit with his mother-in-law - and if she ever caught on Chasten was going to jump off a bridge, he couldn't do that to Anne - and watch Pete debate. But for now he was alone in the hotel room he was sharing with Pete, trying to read _Becoming_ but unable to focus. Pete had taken off as soon as he'd put his bag down. Chasten didn't particularly care where he'd gone. He'd be back eventually.

They were going to sleep in the same bed that night. There was no couch. Chasten was used to the arrangement; they would go to bed at separate times, and hopefully the first one would be asleep by the second one got it. They faced away from each other, did not touch at all. The morning after the Detroit debate Chasten woke up early and heard Pete's breath hitching, very quietly. At first he thought Pete was getting off next to him, and for a moment he was disgusted, but then he realized Pete was trying hard not to cry, and he was, to his surprise, ashamed of himself for assuming anything. Pete got up, got in the shower. Chasten faked being asleep until he heard the alarm go off. 

Chasten had once heard an older relative of his say that if a married couple put a coin in a jar for every time they made love in the first year of their marriage, that if they took a coin out for every time after the first year, the jar would never be empty. He had never believed that. She wasn't married to a politician. Still, with some creative scheduling and a strict adherence to date night every week, they'd managed. More often than not, after the campaign began, it was a quickie in a hotel room or a handjob in the shower, but the sex was beside the point. Chasten was with his husband, alone, and they were in love. They had been married for a little over a year when Pete knelt over Beto. 

They hadn't had sex since the night Chasten showed Pete who he really belonged to, took back what was rightfully his. He made Pete get on his knees, made him sob with pleasure so intense it became pain, then in a moment of clarity, saw the faraway look in Pete's eyes and realized that he could have done anything and Pete would ask for more. Chasten cleaned him up. Tried to take it back. But he couldn't tell Pete that he loved him. He wanted Pete to feel even a fraction of the pain he'd felt, crying his eyes out in the trees across the parking lot from the hotel. It wasn't until later, much later, that he realized just how Pete was punishing himself harder than Chasten ever could. Not that Chasten let up on indulging in his anger. Anger was beautiful, if you let it flourish. Anger was a great motivator, something to get you up in the morning. He fed it, stoked the fire, because it felt good, because it sustained him when he had to put the cheerful face on, because it kept him warm, because if he stopped being angry for one second then he knew he would start to feel sorry for Pete and he just couldn't let that happen. Not yet. Pete was doing everything he was supposed to, acting like the penitent husband and not touching Chasten. Ever since he'd howled and begged for release that night he hadn't made any overtures. It had been months. 

One of these days, sooner than Chasten was ready to think about, he was going to have to crack a rib and tell Pete that he missed him. But not yet.

Chasten put the book aside, checked his phone. As always, Twitter was showing him pictures of him and Pete: from on the trail, at town halls, the previous debates, Instagram screenshots, their wedding. More than once he'd been tempted to rewatch their wedding - it was right there on YouTube with twenty thousand views - but he was afraid of what might happen if he did. He might have to ask Pete to hold him. Or he might just kill Pete. Either seemed equally likely. There was also a remote possibility that Chasten would open his mouth and tell Pete he wanted sex. Not like they'd done the last time. Getting off in bed was one thing but he missed the intimacy so much it was hard to breathe sometimes. He wanted Pete to touch him gently, lie down with him, make him shiver. He wanted to grab Pete's hips and pull him close and growl _Hey, little boy, is your daddy home?_ in his ear and feel him melt. He wanted anything but what he had. 

Chasten put his phone on the nightstand, turned the light off. It was late enough. Pete would be in soon, probably, and he wanted to be asleep before he came in. One less chance for an awkward conversation about the scheduled, or where they were headed after the debate. They didn't talk about anything else lately. Chasten knew, without a doubt, that a stab at a meaningful conversation would turn into something he wasn't ready for, so it was easier to just not do it. He knew how Pete felt. Pete knew how he felt. Chasten looked at Pete sometimes and felt a fresh stab of pain, but Pete was the love of his life. He was surprised to realize, several weeks into this silence, that divorce hadn't crossed his mind once. It still hadn't. He wasn't going to leave. He couldn't. 

Chasten fell asleep thinking about the remarks he was going to give to the Ohio Democrats the next day. He woke up in the middle of the night. Without moving he knew Pete was on his other side, asleep facing away from him. He could hear Pete breathing softly. He rolled over and saw Pete's back, shoulders tense even in sleep, arms drawn to his chest. He wanted to touch Pete, with tenderness instead of blind rage, tell him the same thing he said the first time they'd had sex: _Don't be scared. It's just me._ Pete was right there, a few inches away, and even though he'd ruined their lives he was still warm and he smelled like home. All Chasten had to do was reach out and he could press his palm into the space between Pete's shoulder blades. He thought they looked like wings, at that angle. Chasten bit his lip, hard. If he opened his mouth he would scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be no third part. I have no intention of finishing the hat. Also I can't listen to Springsteen anymore. This hurts me.

**Author's Note:**

> ...sorry.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [please, and thank you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633491) by Anonymous 


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